Moments
by Misery's-Toll
Summary: "Why save me?" she asks sourly, "If you turned my body in to Percy, you'd earn more than a few brownie points... Unless that's still the plan." "Don't be dense, Nikita," Michael says, and levels the weapon in his hands, "Get back in the bed or I'll have to tranquilize you." (Drabbles; Spoilers through Season One)
1. Moments

**Moments**

 **The iPod Shuffle Challenge**

1) Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like. 2) Turn on your music player and put it on shuffle. 3) Write a ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!

 **Summary:** Six drabbles written for the iPod Shuffle Challenge. Mikita and Thalex, onesided Owkita. Spoilers through season One.

* * *

 **1) I Just Wanna Run - The Downtown Fiction**

Running against the wind is her favorite part. With her hair pinned tightly against her scalp, she can grin against the autumn sunlight unobstructed. Sweat of exertion drips from her brow to the back of her neck, cooling in the breeze and sending shivers down her spine.

"Slowpoke!" Nikita shouts, laughing and smiling as Michael grits his teeth and struggles to keep pace.

The whisper of their feet kicking up sand is rhythmic and comforting, like Michael's heartbeat at night or the metal ping of shell casings hitting the floor. These are the things that keep her grounded.

"You know," he grumbles between gasps, "There was a time you couldn't dream to beat my speed!"

Nikita sinks her tennis shoes into the sand, grabbing Michael's hand so his momentum doesn't carry him too far. "I learned from the best," she says in a teasing voice, lacing her sweaty fingers between his, "Look."

The bleeding sunset turns the clouds silver as it sinks into the ocean, like something from a dream. "I guess it's nice," Michael says, combing his hair away from his forehead with his free hand in feigned nonchalance. But Nikita recognizes that poorly concealed smile.

"Uh-huh," she chuckles, goosing him hard on the rump before taking off again in record speed.

"Damn it, Nikita!" Michael growls through a smile, not hesitating in his pursuit to exact revenge.

 _Run, Nikita, Run._

* * *

 **2) Helena Beat - Foster the People**

Her eyes open slowly, and she only needs to turn her head a fraction of an inch to know that the space beside her is empty. Slices of sunlight refract off the baby blue bed sheets, and Nikita sighs.

"Over here," she hears, and raises herself with an elbow to give a sleepy grin to the man in the doorway.

In his hands is a tray adorned with a vase of pink carnations and the classic breakfast in bed. "Aww, Michael," she coos, sleepiness suddenly replaced with adoration, "That for me? It smells wonderful."

He pads into the room on bare feet, sweatpants hanging deliciously low on his hips. With a quirk of the lips that means he's about to say something he thinks is funny, he takes a slow bite of an orange wedge. "Mmm, nuh-uh. This is mine."

"Oh, is that so?" she asks as he slides into bed beside her. She throws her arms over her head in an exaggerated stretch, her lace-trimmed camisole riding up to expose the smooth skin of her abdomen. She notices her companion's appraisal of the curve of her hip as she gracefully slips from the bed. "That's a shame. I'm _so_ hungry. I guess I'll just have to-"

"Nope." Michael grabs her across the waist and kisses her hard, the taste of citrus still fresh on his tongue.

* * *

 **3) Times - Tenth Avenue North** _(takes place sometime in 2x10, after Amanda has tortured Birkhoff and smashed his hand)_

"He just needs some space," she shrugs, sucking in her bottom lip to hide its trembling, "He's been through a lot."

"Right," Owen replies. Nikita hears him turn on the faucet to rinse off the dishes, but she knows they're already clean. Silence follows _onetwothree_. "Listen, I barely know the guy, but I've got a feeling it's gonna be alright. None of what happened was your fault, you know that right?"

 _Onetwothree_. "Of course. I know that."

She stands fluidly and begins to gather the files scattered across the table so she can just escape already. Crawling into the bed Owen has been kind enough to lend to her sounds like a pleasant respite after the week she's had.

"Nikita," Owen says firmly.

She sets the documents down and stares at her companion with a level gaze, gulping down whatever guilty tears might spring to the surface.

"What happened to Birkhoff wasn't your fault," he insists, walking around the counter to press a comforting hand to her shoulder. "I know it's not my place to say, but he could probably use your help right now."

One stray tear escapes, too quick to hide. "Tired of me already?" she asks it like a joke, but there's enough worry behind it to drain the humor from the question.

He gives her that cheeky little smile to lift the mood and says, "Of course not. I was kinda even thinking of tagging along this time. The thought of you in a nurse outfit? Damn."

Nikita can't help but snort, the shame hiding back where it belongs. "I'll send a message to Birkhoff tonight and we can rendezvous at the new digs tomorrow," she decides, confident aura sliding carefully into place. Then after a moments hesitation, she covers his hand on her shoulder with her own, "Thanks, Owen."

"Anytime," he says.

* * *

 **4) Misery Loves Company - Emilie Autumn**

She came in here barely more than a wraith, just enough meat on her bones to keep the other recruits from ripping her apart, armed with nothing but a fork and a bad attitude.

Now, only a month into training, Alex feels like she can take on the world.

The only thing that really keeps her from going stir-crazy between missions is sparring, and lately she can't seem to quit picking fights with Thom. It's not so much that she feels his gaze offensive, it's more the fact that she knows he wants to rip her clothes off and ravish what's underneath, and neither of them can do anything about it.

"What are you waiting for?" he taunts, taped arms raised before him, ready to counter any strike she makes.

Alex just smirks, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, dancing circles around him in search of a gap in his defenses. "For you to get tired of waiting," she says. He blinks, and she risks a jab at his barely exposed flank. He bats her hand away easily with his forearm, grabbing her wrist with his opposite hand and twisting it behind her back. Within seconds, he has her pinned against the mat.

"You're so impatient, Alex," he says quietly, not a criticism, just observation of her character. She breathes harshly into the foam of the mat until he releases her, heart pounding in her chest.

* * *

 **5) Belispeak - Purity Ring**

"You're gonna see me," he said.

That line is what keeps Alex up at night, pacing about her new apartment, sipping chamomile tea with rattling hands.

She's gotten used to feeling the music from Nathan's room across the hall in her floorboards, pulsing beneath her feet with every step. When it stops late at night, sometimes it takes everything she has not to climb out onto the fire escape and scream her lungs out.

She can't take the silence.

For the first few nights she felt strangely exposed without the stiff, white confines of her recruit's quarters, and filled the bathtub with pillows so she could curl up and finally get some rest. But then the dreams came, and she soon found herself crying with Thom's blood running down her arms and staining her lips red.

She hasn't slept properly in weeks. It's only a matter of time before Division finds out her lies and cancels her the same way she killed Thom, a bullet planted firmly in her chest.

* * *

 **6) Hummingbirds - Venus Hum**

Her heels hit the sidewalk, clack clack clack, and she smiles coquettishly for the bouncer at the nightclub entrance. He lets her pass with an approving nod, and she flicks her fingers through the ends of her hair and over her shoulder, letting the silky strands catch the flashing light.

Nikita knows all eyes are on her as she steps gracefully up to the bar, seating herself with poise on one of the stools. She sets her glistening vermillion clutch on the counter, camera in the clasp aimed carefully at the empty seat beside her. It won't be long now. She can already feel the target's gaze sweeping down her long, tanned legs.

"Buy you a drink, chérie?" he says, appearing from the dark as if on cue. She knows Birkoff is already typing away at his computer, camera in her clutch scanning the barcode on the I.D. card hanging from the target's neck.

"Hmm, what are we having?" she asks, a coy glance from beneath her lashes garnishing the man's full attention. The angle of his body is just right for getting a good read on the card.

"Kir Imperials for the both of us," he says to the bartender, black eyes never leaving her face. They twinkle charmingly in the strobe lights, and Nikita can't help but roll her eyes internally at the unfortunate correlation between handsome rich men and terrorism.

"That sounds wonderful," she purrs, and Birkoff's voice in her ear tells her that the scan is complete, and all they need is a fingerprint.

The target leans in, close enough for Nikita to smell his aftershave. "What is your name?" he asks, French accent curious and lilting.

She opens the clasp of her purse, pulling out a tube of lipstick with gloved fingers. "Nikita," she replies silkily, and traces the matte gloss across her mouth with precise and tantalizing movements, his eyes following her every move.

"La femme Nikita. What a lovely name," he hums, and the bartender sets their drinks before them. The target's hand immediately resting along the glass' cool edge. " _Je m'appelle_ Alaine."

"Pleasure to meet you, Alaine," she replies with her most alluring smile and recaps the lipstick. Suddenly, it slips from her fingers, clattering on the floor and rolling some inches away.

" _Non_ ," he says, and just as she predicts, leans down to retrieve the fallen object. She catches Michael's gaze across the room, and then Alaine is presenting the lipstick back to her as if a sparkling emerald, fingerprints transferred flawlessly, "The pleasure is all mine."

* * *

 **7) All Around Me - Flyleaf**

As soon as the safe house door was open, she had him pinned against the wall, lust in her eyes.

"God, you have no idea how much self-control it took not to throw you against the bar and take you there," she panted, drawing him in for a fevered kiss. Michael eagerly sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, biting it playfully.

"Is it the leather? I can wear leather more often," he replied, cupping his hand around the back of her neck to pull her in for a deeper kiss.

Nikita's hand slid aggressively down his back to grab his rump. "Oh, I definitely like the leather," she purred, hitching her leg over his hip to press closer to the hardened lines of his body, heat culminating between them.

"Jesus, you guys. Could you turn off the coms before going at it like bunny rabbits? Some of us back at ops prefer _not_ to be scarred for life," Birkhoff's voice blared through the earpieces.

Michael and Nikita locked eyes, smiling at each other through their impassioned haze.

"You're just jealous, Nerd, 'cause you're not getting any tonight," Nikita laughed, turning off her com and throwing it to the side so she could properly enjoy her fiancé's touch.

* * *

 **A/N:** There will be two more chapters after this one, each its own slightly longer drabble. Stay tuned if you're interested! I'll post the next one soon.

-MT


	2. Revenge

**Revenge  
**  
 **A/N:** Based on a writer's prompt "Revenge: My character will get revenge on yours." Spoilers for S01E09.  
 **Summary:** Michael catches up to Nikita after she thwarts his revenge attempt on Kasim, and the results are painful for them both. Rated T for violence.  
 **Music inspiration:** "Lips Go Blue" by HIM

* * *

When she woke, Nikita almost believed she was still dreaming. She didn't know how many times she'd dreamt of being back here, locked in her recruit quarters that more resembled a padded cell than a bedroom. The taste of stale air and the hum and blare of florescent light bulbs were exactly as she remembered. She hated this place.

She jerked at the handcuffs that bound her wrists to the bed frame, but without result.

"Good morning, recruit," Percy said, standing at the doorway. That sickening, self-satisfied smile quirked at his lips.

Michael, silent and broody as always, shadowed behind him. He had two butterfly bandages sealing a gash at his forehead, a black eye and a busted lip.

Half of that was Kasim's doing; the rest was all Nikita.

* * *

After the police intercepted Michael's reckless revenge at the airport, Percy only needed to pull a few strings to set him loose again.

And Michael had been _so angry_ when he found her.

" _Michael-"_ she breathed, the beginning of a heartfelt excuse never completed. It was the first and last word spoken before their feelings metamorphosed into physical blows, a language they both understood far more than any of the other dozen dialects Division had forced down their untrained throats. Kasim may have killed Michael's family, but Nikita's betrayal (riddled with good intentions that left wounds like bullet holes), caused a much deeper ache.

Three strides forward, and suddenly her arm was twisted behind her back, her head slammed into the desk with every ounce of vitriolic hatred in his body. She clawed, scratched until his skin broke beneath her fingernails, bit, threw him to the ground. But Michael had always been the better fighter, lithe and strong and built for war. Somewhere inside them both, they knew her crusade would have died in its tracks if he'd ever laid a finger on her with purpose.

He had his hands clenched around her throat, thumbs pressed into her windpipe until all he could feel was her pulse and sweat and regret. She grasped with heartbroken determination at his forearms, leaving bruises as her fingers danced along his skin and her body strained for air with watering eyes. He had her. He could end it. And maybe, for a moment, she wanted him to.

But then, just as her vision began to fade, he let go. Oxygen returned to her heaving lungs.

Two of his ribs were broken. Blood oozed from a wound on his forehead. But the anger- the adrenaline, was gone.

Nikita lied there on the ground, taking shuddering, broken breaths, staring at the light fixture above her head as her brain reminded her that she was still alive.

" _Michael,"_ she wheezed again. Cradling her fractured wrist against her chest, she pulled herself up so she could sit, their damaged limbs tangled in a battered mess between them. She reached out her other hand, knuckles red and bruised from where they'd collided with his bones and flesh, and she gingerly cupped his cheek.

He sobbed once, and their lips almost met- and maybe they should have. But then the doors burst open, red laser sights baring down on them both. Whatever moment of tenderness they almost shared was murdered when Michael grabbed her in a headlock, his body angled between her and the Division agents at the door.

"You can lower your weapons!" he shouted, "I got her."

As he handed her over to the men in body armor, Nikita gave Michael's arm one last gentle squeeze.

* * *

 **A/N:** At least one chapter remaining! Will be up before the end of the week.


	3. Save Me

**Save Me**

 **A/N:** Based on a writer's prompt "Save Me: I'll write a drabble about my character saving yours or vise versa." No spoilers for any particular episode or season.  
 **Summary:** Nikita accomplishes the mission once again, but screws up the exfil. Takes place during early season one.  
 **Music Inspiration:** "You Want Everything" by Snowmine

* * *

When Nikita wakes, her hand immediately goes for the knife in her boot; the only problem is, the knife is gone and so are her boots.

Clad in nothing but her undergarments and a sweltering cocoon of quilts, Nikita is stripped entirely of her defenses. All she can think is, it's a good thing modesty has never been one of her greater virtues.

She slides as silently as she can from the bundle of blankets, wincing as the mattress squeaks with her shifting weight. The noise causes a stir from the next room over, and Nikita quickly rolls from the bed to crouch in a catlike stance behind it. The sudden movement is dizzying, her muscles quaking from the effort, and for a moment she wonders if she was drugged. It would explain a lot of things.

She darts for the adjacent master bathroom, but she barely makes it two feet before the release of a handgun's safety-catch stops her in her tracks.

Her eyes rove the room for anything she could use as a weapon, and her gaze settles on the gleaming metal handles of a pair of scissors, half concealed by the tattered remains of her sneak suit.

"Turn around," says the wielder of the firearm, and while Nikita would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere, she doesn't feel any less wary.

She obeys the order, hands still lifted innocently above her head, but she keeps the location of the scissors stored in her memory. If she's careful not to knick any organs or arteries, she could probably incapacitate Michael long enough to make a run for it.

After all, no one catches up to Nikita after she's slipped free.

"Hello Michael," she says, taking the heavy moment to note that his clothes are rumpled, his eyes slightly puffy, and he has lines of fabric imprints across his left cheek, "Sleeping on the job?"

Michael's lips quirk ironically. "I'm not the only one," he replies, and gestures toward the bed, "Get in."

"You could at least buy me a drink first," she flirts, her voice slightly raspy as her parched throat protests. She bats her eyelashes and tries to use the fact that she's in her underwear to her advantage, but Michael's all business today.

"Only if you get back in bed and try to _rest_. I didn't fish you out of Lake Eerie and nurse you back to health just for you to die from stubbornness," he says, his expression hardening with the severity of his words.

The mission gone wrong flits through her mind. Nikita recalls jumping from the rented helicopter just as Roan blasted it from the air with a RPG-7. She escaped the blast, but not the tumultuous grasp of the riptide.

She can vaguely remember the frantic gripping hands she thought were trying to choke her as Michael pulled her from the harbor and forced the water from her lungs. If the bruise on his temple is any indication, Nikita landed at least one nasty hit before unconsciousness stole her away.

"Why save me?" she asks sourly, "If you turned my body in to Percy, you'd earn more than a few brownie points... Unless that's still the plan."

"Don't be dense, Nikita," Michael says, and levels the weapon in his hands, "Get back in the bed or I'll have to tranquilize you."

Nikita takes a shaky step forward, and gradually lowers her arms from their surrendered position. "Chill Michael," she says placatingly, her voice growing dustier, "Just let me walk around a little. I'm not going to keel over from too much fresh air."

Michael purses his lips, and seems to consider her words for a minute, before tucking the M9 into his waistband with a sigh. "Go to the kitchen and _wait_ for me. I'll grab you something to wear."

"Oh, but our conversations are so much more fun like this," she says jokingly, but does what he tells her.

* * *

First thing she does when Michael leaves the room is search the drawers and cabinets. It's clear from the contents (powdered milk, canned vegetables, dried jerky) that this is a safe house, probably somewhere in Pennsylvania, not Michael's personal home.

It's unsurprising. If she knows anything about Michael at all, it's that he's the same as her. Probably sleeping on an army cot in a sparsely decorated, meticulously kempt apartment somewhere near the perimeter of New Jersey.

If he's at all alarmed by the sight of her digging through the safe house's supplies, he doesn't show it. He enters calmly, carrying a bundle of cloth in his hands, firearm securely fastened in the newly buckled holster at his hip. She intuits this as less of a sign of trust than a preventative measure -it would be marginally more difficult for her to swipe the weapon from him in hand-to-hand combat.

"Find what you're looking for?" he asks dryly, setting the folded clothing items on the corner of the four-seated dining table.

She presses her fingers along the inner lining of the silverware drawer and discovers a false bottom, something she notes without acting on. "No, not really."

"You should sit down," he says through his teeth, clearly exasperated by her refusal to follow orders.

Nikita slides the drawer shut with her hip, and takes a few shaky steps toward Michael until she's standing close enough to smell the harbor on him. The heat from his body stirs something inside of her -longing, maybe. She feels like a recruit again, always accomplishing the mission but screwing up the exfil. She would be dead a thousand times over if Michael hadn't saved her.

"And you should put some clothes on," he adds in an almost whisper, and then clears his throat. "You have goose bumps."

She knows she should listen to him; she is bone weary. But she is also so angry, so defiant. Why do things have to be this way?

She smiles and leans in closer, watching her own reflection in his jaded eyes. "Oh Michael, always so protective," she murmurs, and grabs the clothing from the table behind him.

She walks away, and whatever culminated between them evaporates.

* * *

"How much do you remember?" he asks through a mouthful of green beans directly from the can. The gas stove works fine, but they both know anything can be used as a weapon if she wields it right.

"Before or after I hit you in the face?" she asks with a smile.

Kindness can be a weapon too, especially between them. Perhaps even the sharpest of them all.

He almost laughs; almost. "After."

Nikita searches her mind for any memories between the blackout and waking up, and finds very little. She had dreams, about Daniel and about Alex and living on the beach.

Then she remembers dreaming of the water, first icey and then scalding. Michael's voice pleading, _Hold on Nikita! Just hold on!_ Her eyes opening, flashes of the showerhead spurting grey liquid over both their bodies.

He'd used the scissors on the night stand to cut her out of her waterlogged stealth suit and dragged her to the bathtub, where he turned on the tap as hot as it could go until her frozen, hypothermic flesh turned pink, and he _begged_ her not to die.

Under Michael's heavy, almost guilt-laden stare, she lies, "I can't remember anything. Where does Percy think you are right now?"

"Why, so you can blow up that mission too?" he asks, and while it sounds like a joke, she can tell that he's actually serious.

"Roan was the only one to use explosives on that last one, actually," Nikita reminds him with a small smile, and takes a swig from her bottle of water.

"It's just basic reconnaissance on member of a New York mob that owes him money. I delegated the task to a contact of mine," Michael finally explains, the assignment clearly too small-time for Nikita to bother with, "I have more pressing matters to tend to."

Nikita swallows the last bite of her fruit cocktail, and licks the spoon clean. Without being asked, Michael slides another can across the table for her.

"What happens if Percy checks your tracker?" she proposes, peeling the metal lid off the tin. The overly sweet smell of preserved carrots fills the air, and Nikita can't help but think she could make a good veggie shake from all this if only they had ice and some rice milk. As if Michael would let her near a blender.

Michael drums his fingers against the table and hesitates before answering, "It doesn't matter. I'll come up with something."

Nikita sets her spoon aside and glares. "This is serious, Michael! You might be his favorite lapdog, but that's _all_ you are to Percy. If he suspects you've been disloyal, he will kill you."

This time, Michael finally does laugh, but it's humorless. "He'll do worse than that."

"Then why?" Nikita asks, "Why do this much for me? You should have pulled me out of the water and left me there!"

Michael purses his lips and growls, "And then what? Hoped you survived long enough for a cleaner to find your body?"

"Yes!" Nikita shouted, throwing her hands into the air, "You...You can't do this, Michael. You can't straddle the line like this. You're going to have to choose a side, before it gets you killed."

She stands up from the table, suddenly feeling lightheaded, and heads back toward the bedroom to lie down. She sighs under her breath, "I just hope mine's the side you choose."

* * *

 **A/N:** This is all I have of my one-shots series at this point. However, I have a full-length fanfiction in the works. So far I have 11,000 words typed and I have the rest of the plot planned out. So that may make an appearance soon. Any segments that I reject from that fic will be posted here as one-shots.

Originally this chapter was going to be part of a longer fanfiction, and the reason Nikita felt lightheaded was that Michael drugged her so that he could leave and meet Percy. It would turn out that Michael saving Nikita was actually a directive by Percy, but in the end Nikita and Michael would team up and overthrow him of course. It was going to be about four or five chapters. I stopped writing it though when I started writing my full-length fic.

The upcoming fic will be called Impact. So I hope you'll check it out once it's posted!

Thank you for reading, and please review. I would really appreciate it. And thank you very much to the Anonymous Reviewers, who I can't reply to!

-MT


End file.
